


Worthless

by susiephalange



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: (but can be read as any gender if u ignore the titles + gender prefixes), Angst, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Post-Canon, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Short Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 00:41:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11429589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: A human translator assigned to work alongside Kylo Ren to ensure minimisation of casualties on his more diplomatic missions. What could gorightwrong?





	Worthless

**Author's Note:**

> I literally should have gone to bed hours ago. But if I didn't write the end of this fic, I don't know when I would have the time to finish this. Let alone have the writing bug going at the same pace. Anyways. Enjoy!

To describe the relationship between the Commander, and you, would be almost too hard to put a label to. More than anything, it was a work relationship; symbiotic. You were present to bring out the best of him, and he was there to do his job. Benefits for both yourself, as a translator, and him, the student of Supreme Leader Snoke. You had always been a cheerful person, despite your inadequacies in other areas in life; whilst most people had their worries about status, or perhaps their careers, your shortcomings were exactly that. Short. It had been quite hard to work with such a tall man, at first.

 

I

The first time you had met one another, you had been in General Hux’s board meeting room, waiting for become the acquaintance of one another. The redhead who oversaw your pay check had assured you of your safety, and the importance of the work to the First Order. If anything, his words were only assuring himself, as you were fine with the predicament you had gotten yourself into.

Being a human translator, you were almost obsolete since to uprising of droids and technology that removed the requirements of a third party. But languages were a part of you, of your people; you came from a small moon orbiting Yavin, where there were six native languages. You loved words, and people’s voices. Joining the First Order was about job security, and having a stable environment. Your new job, however, was a glorified babysitting position. But still. Being Kylo Ren’s companion could stabilise a lot of treaties with wavering parties in the galaxy, who saw the black-clad man as a threat.

“General,” Kylo Ren’s modulator spoke. Your eyes lit up at once; even though technology had rendered you outmoded, the way it worked made you intrigued. “I thought I was here to meet the person you have forced upon me.”

General Hux nodded. “Indeed, you are, Ren.” He gestures a gloved hand to you, where you stand. “Unless you can’t see out of that trash compactor of a helmet, you have no reason to have not acknowledged your equal, Ms. ________ _________.”

It’s then you realise that he _can_ see out of the ‘trash compactor of a helmet’, but hadn’t _looked down_. The general is as tall, if not slightly shorter than the commander, and the tip-top of your head comes to _his_ shoulders.

“Good day, Commander Ren.” You hold your hand out for him to shake, as is the custom, holding your hand high as to not make him reach down too far out of his way to complete the action. Slowly, you see his hand recede from its place by the sabre on his side, and take your hand in his gloved one. “It is a pleasure to be working with you, sir.”

As his hand leaves yours, you feel a sensation in your mind, almost like fingers carding through paper files in a manual filing cabinet, searching, seeking. You had heard of the Force Sensitive’s tricks, and stared back at him with a smile when he seemed to be fruitless in his searches.

“I think you will find that Ms. ________ here will not easily fall prey to your childish tricks,” The General informs him. “Her records hold an astounding grasp of a number of languages. Unless you have a grasp of Ewokese, or Olys Corellisi.” The General looks to the pair of you, and adds, “I have a Holo-Conference I need to attend to. If I find her dead, you will be punished, Ren.” He warns Kylo Ren, and leaves you two to your own devices.

“You know the old tongue of Corellia,” He comments, and moves to stand opposite you, and looks you up and down. “Impressive. Though the speakers of it have died out, and it is useless without another who knows it.”

You know Kylo Ren is insulting you, and the tricks of your previous profession. “Few enough know the words, and plenty are allies of the First Order, Commander Ren.” You retort calmly, and add, “If you want to taunt me more, sir, go on. We should get it done today, as we will be working together for the near future.”

He shakes his head, and states, “You are not afraid of me.”  

You raise an eyebrow at his wording, “I don’t think I should be. Even though you have a reputable anger, I think of that anger as passion. But that’s why I’m here.” You blink, and move to the door. “I’m here to make sure you don’t _passionately_ kill the wrong people.”

 

II

You had just come back to The Finalizer from a mission with Kylo Ren, and while he was confined to the Infirmary for the last two days for his injuries (after a wrong turn, the man had taken quite a beating from a pride of Nexus), you were required to meet Captain Phasma for an occasion. Why, you were not sure other than her close association with Commander Ren but you would be late for the meeting, for no reason than you had no way than slowly navigating your way through the crowd on Deck D.

Other than it being Benduday, all you knew for the reason of the crowd was that they were celebrating the success Kylo Ren and you had accomplished. Not that you were mentioned in the official documents; in all translations of the media release of the latest treaty, General Hux took all the glory for the accomplishment. As he should; he was the head of the First Order, and all efforts were because of his leadership.

The crowd was comprised of officers, technicians, and Stormtroopers, and because you were shorter, you had trouble seeing over most them in the process of wading through to the important meeting you were sure to miss at the rate you were walking.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, and startled, you cursed in Bothese. Only to see, once you spun to see the owner of the hand, was none other than your co-worker, Kylo Ren.

“Allow me,” he nods, his hand moving to the sabre at his side.

Your eyes widen, and at once, you place a hand on the hilt before his hand can touch it. Your first thought was of the officers and members of the First Order – needless killing of them simply because you had trouble passing through their congregation would halt the celebrations quite short. Your second thought was for the wounds Kylo Ren held, but then, with reconsideration, you remembered of the Bacta technology the medical bay held. He would be fine, but those caught in the crossfire would not be.

“No,” you told him firmly.

Reluctant, he withdrew his hand, and moved past you in the crowd. The people surrounding you noticed him; their glorious and feared Commander, and withdrew from his proximity to allow him to pass through. Seeing your opportunity, you followed in suit.

Before long, you realise that the Sith is leading you straight to the specific training area where you are to meet Captain Phasma. Wondering that he plucked the information from your mind, or perhaps from another member of the First Order privy to your schedule, he turns his helmet’s face to you. Though you can’t see his eyes, you feel them look straight through you.

“Either I’m accidently thinking in Basic, or do you know Shyriiwook, sir?” you ask Kylo Ren. He shakes his head, but there’s a reluctance in it. Your lips part, a small smile taking over your lips. “I shan’t tell a soul you helped me out, Commander, or that you know the language of the Wookie race.” You vow, and bowing, walk past him to the awaiting Captain Phasma.

 

III

The meeting space was on a planet between the current location of The Finalizer and their territory, an uninhabited world due to the harsh temperatures that had caused the earlier species to die out. You had luckily worn a warmer uniform than usual, but that didn’t stop you from shivering.

The mission was supposed to be _simple_. How had it gone that far south?

You were supposed to translate the language from who were from the Outer Rim and speak on the behalf of Kylo Ren, and establish a principal link between their people, and the First Order. It went well enough until words were shared in a less than personable light, and before you knew it, his sabre was lit up, and the people who were supposed to become new allies had their weapons drawn. After the hackles were raised, a person of the party had set off an explosive device, and while the other people were hailed in time to their ship, you and Kylo Ren were left, and now were left in the rubble of the underground meeting spot, laying on the cold ground, trying not shift the rubble above.

“Are you cold?” His voice modulator intoned.

You shake your head, and lied to the man who cannot be lied to. “No.”

You hear a sigh from behind the mask. “You’re cold.” He states, this time as a fact, and not a question, “Move toward me. It is better to share warmth than freeze in solitude.”

“It w-would be unprofessional t-to be so cl-close, s-s-sir,” your teeth are chattering, but before you can protest any more, Kylo Ren has reached a long arm to you, and has moved you to his side. He is wearing so many layers, you wonder if he even feels the cold; not a part of him shows his skin, while you are suffering with your face, neck and fingers bare to the freezing atmosphere. Slowly, you release a sigh of relief. “Th-thank y-ou.”

Without your consent, your head migrates from laying under his armpit to his chest, as though the dangerous Sith apprentice of Supreme Leader Snoke is a heated, muscle-bound pillow. Your eyes grow heavy, perhaps from the exhaustion, or contentment, you’re not sure. But until the pair of you are rescued by First Order troopers, dug up and sent to the Infirmary to be treated for hypothermia, you stay there, near one another.

When you wake, you find yourself in a bed of white, the walls glowing with light, medical droids fussing over you. Glancing down, you see a multitude of bruises littering your arms, and trying to sit up, you feel a pang of pain in your legs, and still. You don’t need to be told twice by the droids to stay in bed. It’s nice to feel warm, and not in mortal peril.

Your eyes wander, and from the corner of your eye, you see a medical curtain pulled across, but that’s not what attracted your attention. There’s the same modulated voice you’re accustomed to hearing every day, but this time, it’s low, and threatening.

You frown. He’d better not be making trouble with the nurses and medical staff.

Closing your eyes, you untangle your messy thoughts, and clearing the slate, project words forth for him to catch. _Commander Ren, if I find you have caused mayhem to those who are trying to help you, I will not be pleased._

Before too long, you hear the thrashing and threats in the bed nearby cease, and a curt reply, delivered straight to your mind, _I don’t exist to please you, Ms. ________._ You laugh at this, but your throat is dry, and it ends up sounding like you’re being strangled by a Rancor. You feel a feeling wash through your brain; it’s regret, but it’s not you who feels this. _How are your injuries?_ His voice comes once more, this time inquisitive, with a hint of sympathy? You’re not sure if he’s in his right mind. The droids must have injected Kylo Ren with an anaesthesia, or administrated him with a numbing gas.

 _I’m not dead, so that’s good_ , you think. _Bruised and battered, but it pales to what I hear battling users of The Force would receive._ A beat of silence passes between the pair of you, and you add, _Thank you for not letting me die back there._

Beside you, the droids keep moving over your injuries; you suspect that you’ve broken a bone in your left arm, but from what the screen full of symbols said, and the basic beeping from the droids in their binary speak, you weren’t sure.

_You’re welcome, ________._

“I will administer an anaesthesia to you.” The droid speaks to you in Basic, “We need to operate on the breaks in your scapula and ulna, and treat the damage to your nervous system.” Before the droid is finished speaking, there’s a prick on your right elbow, and you feel your eyes closing.

Before you go under, you let a thought fly loose, if Kylo Ren is listening. _Please don’t harm anyone here._

You’re not sure if it’s a trick of the drugs, or perhaps your mind, but before you go off into the induced coma, there’s a reply. It sounds different to the modulated voice of Kylo Ren; it’s organic, human. Baritone. But still, it’s in your mind.

_For you._

 

IV

It had started out to be a good day. You had woken, eaten breakfast in the dining hall by your room. Kylo Ren was to be taking the week for meditation and training with Supreme Leader Snoke, not requiring you for any action. You had remembered to take the supplements for the injuries you were still recovering from, and by simply reading that the day was to be filing the paperwork from previous missions, made it a wonderful day. Even with the surgeries on your arm, you found it hard to work it like you used to. You were due back to the medical wing when you were permitted to have additional work done on it.

But when you made it to the available office you were to use, you found you had a guest. Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka stood in the entrance, his arms held behind his back. Not that you did not like the man; he was a diligent worker, and had a professional reputation. But there was something you didn’t like…he did his job, almost too well. Lieutenant Mitaka seemed to be too comfortable in his position, leading him to say, and do things beyond his station.

“I’ve been given time off from my position to help you with your own,” he started off with, moving a hand to take the files from yours. Be it your arm in a sling or not, you were more than capable holding five slim files in your hand. “How’s your arm?”

“It’s fine, thank you.” you nod, and add, “Please. Lieutenant, I am perfectly capable to type one handed on my Datapad.” You protest, holding the files from his fingers. Whether it be that you were a woman of pride, or thought it unnecessary that a close follower of the General became knowledgeable of the confidential material, or perhaps you weren’t even sure he had the clearance, you weren’t sure. Perhaps it was a mix of all those. “I don’t need your assistance.”

Mitaka rescinds his hand. “At all?”

“While your offer is made in good light, Lieutenant, it comes as a condescending affront that I am unable to perform basic duties without a man to help me.” You nod, and moving past him to the desk in the office, you add, “If you do not mind leaving me be, I have a deadline to meet.”

The next day, you complete the work you were unable to do the day before, and the third day since taking to Lieutenant Mitaka, you find him there on the doorstep to your office once again, but this time, he holds his hands in front of himself, and in them, a gift of flowers. Where had he even gotten them? You’re yet to go to the Infirmary to have the droids operate on your arm, but still, you thought the message was clear to Mitaka; you were in no need for assistance.

“I didn’t mean for you to feel that way when I wanted to help out.” But before you can tell him where to go, he holds the flowers to you, and adds, “To apologise, let me take you to lunch.”

There’s a shadow beside you, of a few officers you don’t know the name of. Their faces transform into a smile, and one of them look to you, “Aw, he’s such a cutie! You _have_ to take him on that offer!” They tell you.

You shake your head. “No – no, I won’t,” you tell the officer, and looking back to Mitaka, you see the flowers are almost pressed against your chest, “No! I didn’t ask for you to take pity in my state, and come and help me. I’m still a brilliant translator and typist, one handed or not!” At this, you hold the files in your arms ever tighter. Your feet propel you forward, and you’re running, dashing away from them all.

You hear shouts from behind you, a clatter of footsteps, cries from your outburst. You focus on not dropping the files you clutch, and not bash your body on anyone or thing stray in the corridor. You take twists, turns, left, and right, not caring where you end up. Anywhere, somewhere as far from those people as you could. There’s hot tears falling down your red face, but you’re not blinking them away fast enough to see, and you surge into a still figure.

A hand stops you from falling. Your eyes focus, and lips open, you realise you’ve run straight into the man who’s supposed to be in meditation with his teacher. Kylo Ren.

“Whoever made you cry, will pay,” the voice modulator threatens.

You shake your head, righting yourself to your feet, emptying his grip of you. “He means well, sir, but it’s me, I made myself cry.” You tell him. You can almost sense his frown beneath that mask of a helmet. “While his advances were not appreciated, I’m too sensitive for my own good.”

He glances, and you realise the pair of you are standing in the open. While you are standing with Kylo Ren in a small corridor, you understand the need to be in a closed off room, where prying ears are not privy to the words the pair of you speak. You follow him to a room, but as the door closes behind you, you realise you are standing in an empty interrogation room.

“How is the woman who is not afraid of me, can think, _and_ speak in a multitude of languages,” He asks you. Unlike the first time he was frank with you when you had met, you now know what he means by his bare words, “Has survived eight missions with me, be sensitive?”

You shake your head. “You don’t need to hear my life story,” you swipe at your eyes. “You’re the Commander. I’m just…just me.”

But the black-clad Force user shook his head. “Enlighten me, Ms. ________.”

“I was left for dead by my parents when they realised I would be short for my whole life.” You swallow, unable to look where you know he can see your face. “My home has a…requirement for people to be of a certain height, we’re a…I’m supposed to be a warrior. But I got a lift from my planet.”

“You have spent your whole life to be independent, to prove your worth in other ways,” Kylo Ren hums.

You blink, and sniffing, “How you can stand to look at me after being so unprofessional,” you sigh, and go to move your arm to wipe your eyes, but you realise it’s your left hand you’ve moved, and wince in pain, and your stupidity for forgetting its immobility. “Stars, I’m a mess.”

“If you’re a mess, I don’t want to know what I am, Ms. __________.” A hand moves to your shoulder. “I was on my way to the Infirmary. If you wish to accompany me, we can have the nurses look at your injuries…” Kylo Ren offers.

Inwardly, you’re frowning, wondering if you’re dreaming; this is not the man you work with. He is not caring, he does not offer things beyond his own sphere of living, of understanding. Kylo Ren is a man who kills, who lives under strict order, who does not follow his heart, but buries it with the corpses he leaves behind.

Outwardly, you nod. “I – that would be for the best, I think.”

 

V

When you can move your fingers freely once again, it’s a Taungsday, and weeks after the confrontation with Lieutenant Mitaka. General Hux was sure to make sure that you were given an appropriate space, and did not assign Mitaka, or anyone else for that matter to aid you. After another four missions by his side, you were still a weapon-less translator, known for the way you held the dangerous atomic bomb of a man on a leash. Not a soul looked at you wrong, for fear of the wrath of Kylo Ren, and the whole First Order.

After your healing process, there was another part of you that did not feel whole. Still, your mind niggled at you, of the voice that spoke to you, the haunting two words that plagued your mind. Those words, spoken into your mind the way that only Kylo Ren knew how to, but with another person’s voice. _For you_.

You paced your room, wondering. Per chance it was the drugs the droids had given you. There was a high chance they had given you a dose inappropriate for your size; you’d heard stories of people doing or hearing strange things while under anaesthesia. Maybe it was just you, playing pretend. You knew over twenty-four languages, couldn’t your mind have made a trick on you? You give a huff. Ruminating over a matter wouldn’t fix it. And walking a hole through the floor of your living quarters wouldn’t either. At once, you grab your coat, and make way to the place you can get answers.

Although you have permission to enter the quarters of Kylo Ren, you have never explicitly been told you could. It was like a dare; would you, or would you not make way within his walls, where he was safe within? From experience, you know he finds solace being away from others, from his own mind. That’s why you knock on the door, instead of punching in the code appropriate for entering and burst in.

Almost a second later, the door opens, and you push past the man most people would be afraid to walk by. Perhaps you’re so comfortable with him because you know he cannot hurt you without the ire of General Hux to fall upon him. But you are within his quarters, in his domain.

“Are you the only Force user here in the First Order?” you ask him.

The masked man considers a moment. “Many people are Force sensitive, Ms. __________ , though few understand they are, let alone know their strength like I do.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You cross your arms. “Are you the only Force user here in the First Order?” you repeat.

Kylo Ren nods. “I am the only Force user here in the First Order with the level of skill to perform the tricks you are asking about.”

You frown. “By tricks, you mean the whole ‘I can move things without touching them’ trick, and the ‘I know when you’re in trouble and need a hand’ trick, and ‘I can speak in your head, and hear your thoughts too’ trick, aren’t you?”

He nods.

“Why don’t you take off your helmet?” you demand. For once, Kylo Ren is speechless when you _need_ him to speak. “You kill people with your lightsabre, you aren’t afraid of death, you save me time, and time again even though I’m like a Greeper to the galaxy!” you cry out. “I’m _useless_. If it weren’t for the smuggler who got me off that blasted rock, I’d be dead, like I was supposed to be!” You take a breath, and add, “Commander, ordinary people don’t just know Shyriiwook; either you’re a droid beneath that mask, or, for all I know, a Wookie!” _It would explain your height!_ You think, internally – accidently – in Basic, plain, and broadcasted for him to hear. “Please. I won’t tell anyone if you’re anything else than what they see. I don’t care if you’re ugly, or kriff, old. Just –,”

You’re interrupted by a sound you’ve never heard before. It’s a soft hiss, sort of like the noise of the airlock opening after the doors have been closed on a starship. You’re silent, watching, as his gloved hands move to push the cowl from the helmet, and lift it from his shoulders, to place it upon his table. You half expect there to be no head at all, or perhaps something that wouldn’t suit the intimidating figurehead of the First Order.

But there is a head. A face. A full head of hair. A pair of dark eyes stare at you, boring into your soul like you always pictured they were while hidden away behind the helmet. Your eyes trail downward, past his strong nose, full lips, strong jaw. There’s a ghost of a scar across his face, healed by time and technology. Your lips part as you notice how thick this hair is, how pale, and dark he is all at once. It’s like staring into the heart of a star, expecting a black hole to be at the centre, and finding a nebula.

“You’re beautiful,” you feel the words tumble from your lips before you can stop them, and raising a hand to your mouth to stop more unwarranted words, you sigh. “Sorry. It’s just…I didn’t think you would take it off.”

He takes a breath. And then, “For you, anything.”

It’s the voice. The one you were so worried about hearing, that you thought you were going mad, from hearing, the voice that you heard when you were going under. Your lips part, and for the second time in your career, you’re crying, but this time, they are not angry tears that make your eyes feel puffy and chest heavy as if poured full of caf. No. They are different tears; they are soft, and drip down your cheeks like rain upon the pavement of a city you hadn’t been to yet.

“Why are you crying?” Oh, that voice! A line forms between his brows, eyes searching your face for answers. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he coaxes, a gloved hand cradling your face, the other, your neck.

You swallow. “I thought I was crazy. Hearing things. But it was just you. You and your pretty face, and your silly ways to keep me not dead,” you sniffle, sparing him a soft smile for forgiveness. “Sorry for calling you a Wookie.”

He drops his grip on you, and at once, you feel oddly empty. Even though it’s against all the warnings that people gave you for working alongside Kylo Ren, and work standards, and your own rules, there’s a little voice in your head – completely your own voice – that tells you never to fear the reaper of death standing before you. He had allowed you to keep your own private thoughts. Kept you warm whilst otherwise freezing to death. Had kept you hidden away from the unwelcome invitation of Mitaka.

“It’s okay.” He nods, his hand moving to take the helmet in it once more. At once, you move your hand to his, stilling it.

“Please, never put it on again,” you plead to him. “Not when you look like starlight.”

He makes a low chuckle. “How about we make a deal?” He proposes, his hand encircling yours, fingers threading through your own. “I will look at you in the eyes with my own, in privacy, and you will never say that you are worthless.”

Slowly, you nod. A fair trade.

“Because you are not worthless,” he adds, “Since the fall of Starkiller base, and the…defeat that I took, I found it hard to make effort on my pledge to Snoke, to the First Order. You helped me stay adamant, and focus on what was required.” He tells you. “You may not be a warrior like your people, but you have made me into a better one.”

**Author's Note:**

> AWEEEEEE I LIVE FOR FLUFF
> 
> Also, don't fight me on this head canon: Kylo Ren is fluent in the language of the Wookies, all because of his Uncle Chewy. Here's some fan art on it too if you're a [disbeliever](http://kelgrid.tumblr.com/post/138431336713/this-is-han-solos-son-were-talking-about-theres). 
> 
> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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